


Succession

by corvidae9



Series: The Great Galactic Baby Boom of 2187 [3]
Category: Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: F/F, F/M, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-15
Updated: 2021-03-18
Packaged: 2021-03-23 11:14:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30054588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/corvidae9/pseuds/corvidae9
Summary: Ten years after the events ofInheritance, the Shepard-Vakarian offspring are trying to figure out this adulting business. Their parents? You know. Still trying to keep peace in an ungrateful galaxy, arguing with Batarians and apparently, shipping out for the first time in... well. A while.
Relationships: Female Shepard/Garrus Vakarian
Series: The Great Galactic Baby Boom of 2187 [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/711036
Comments: 3
Kudos: 8





	1. Prologue: January, 2214

**Author's Note:**

> Ok, fair warning. The Prologue is my setup and is complete. The rest is not, but like, let's do this together. :D

“Shepard-Vakarian.” Each syllable was pronounced carefully, slowly, and dripping with disdain. Annika stood unflinching, back straight, eyes ahead.

“Sir, yes sir,” she all but shouted; tone even despite his gaze boring into her. The radiation from Earth’s Sol was hot on her skin, and she fought not to squint against the unfamiliar glare. 

“A real, certified celebrity type. You are already a pain in my generously-sized rear, were you aware of this?” the large, meaty, closely-shorn sergeant growled.

“Sir, story of my life, sir,” she answered, straightfaced. There was a snort somewhere in a rank behind her but she knew better than to react.

“And yet here you are, with zero regard for the pain you cause me,” he said, stepping into her space and speaking forcefully down at all five feet, three inches of her. “A hemorrhoid and a godforsaken comedian to boot. Everybody drop and give me twenty.”

Annika dropped obediently. Twenty was nothing. She could have given him twenty half-drunk with one arm. 

“Except Shepard-Vakarian here,” said the sergeant as she was counting five. “You give me fifty. And if you’re not done by the time the last fool here is done, everyone gets to give me twenty more.” A groan sounded from somewhere to her right, and it was all Annika could do not to flinch. “Never mind. Everyone’s giving me a hundred.” He turned on his heel and strode back to the front of the group. “I swear to MacArthur, every year they tell me they’re going to send me recruits who aren’t useless, and every year they disappoint me. And let me tell you, I am the last marine you want to disappoint. Do I make myself clear?”

“Sir, yes sir!” Annika ground out, counting forty-one silently. At least she was in better shape than some of these soft bastards; that was some consolation.

“Then do not disappoint me, scrubs!” he shouted, his posture flawless. Annika counted to one hundred and two just to be on the safe side, then popped to her feet and back into form, followed shortly by a recruit two rows down. The Sergeant narrowed his eyes. 

“Why are you just standing there?” he shouted. “Run!”

“Sir? The second recruit asked, but Annika knew better. She had no idea where she was going, but she started running anyway. She’d figure the rest out later.

“Even the useless sack of dogmeat with too many names knows what that means, Drummond!” shouted the sergeant, pointing at Annika, who was already twenty yards away. “Run! Before I think of something to chase you!”

The recruit named Drummond looked flummoxed for only a moment longer before he broke into a run trying to catch up with Annika. One by one, the remaining recruits stood shakily, took the hint and followed. 

By the time Drummond caught up with Annika, he was breathing hard and trying to get her attention. 

“Hey,” he said, still a foot or two behind. “Hey, where are you going?”

“Fuck if I know,” muttered Annika, eyes ahead, trying to figure out where best to turn a corner. “But when someone like that says, ‘run’, you damn well run.”

Drummond finally fell into step alongside her, though it looked like it was costing him a bit of effort to do so. 

“Man. I thought officer training was going to be easier than what the rest of the knobs go through,” he huffed. 

She spared him a long, pitying side-eye, wondering who the hell raised him.

“You are in for a long, long year, princess,” she said with zero sympathy, chose a corner to turn, and picked up the pace just to be quit of him. Maybe not everyone had been raised in a house like hers, but the amount of whining she’d already heard made her feel a little more hopeless about the prospects for this class. Still.

She caught a less-than-creative, one-word epithet directed at her, and she smiled. It was a dangerous kind of smile, one that spoke of satisfaction more than amusement.

“Yep,” she said, loudly enough to be heard by anyone within twenty feet. “Best not forget it.”

She’d had twenty-two years to come to terms with being her mother’s daughter, after all.

###

“Shepard,” Garrus rumbled into the half-dark. He’d been watching her toss fitfully for the better part of an hour. To be fair, he had also been awake for that hour and the one before, staring into space and nowhere near sleeping.

“Vakarian,” Shepard answered humorlessly.

“She’s fine,” he said, managing to master his subharmonics into agreeing, for all that it had taken more than fifty years to figure out how to occasionally cover what he was really feeling. After all of this time, Shepard could figure out most of his usual tones, and she didn’t need his concern along with hers.

“I know,” Shepard said stiffly.

Garrus reached out and hooked an arm around her middle, and reeled her in until she was flush against his warm body. She didn’t put up a fight, but she was also absolutely as rigid as she sounded.

“You should feel bad for the rest of her class,” he said, rubbing slow circles along her side. Some twenty-five years later, her body had begun to remember the massive trauma it had been through more often these days, but he knew where the worst of it was and knew exactly how to make it better. Most of the time. Nothing was really going to fix this. “She’s gonna wipe the floor with them.”

“My parents loved me, but--” she said, seemingly apropos of nothing. “I mean. They were pacifists. They wanted to farm and… I don’t know. Live.” She sighed; the empty space where her family had been was an old wound, mostly healed, but the scar pulled funny nonetheless. “They never had to see their baby girl run off and turn into a killing machine.”

“Would they have been happy to see you doing something you love?” he asked carefully. She turned in his arms to face him.

“Did I love it?” Shepard tilted her head at him. “Because most of the time, I just remember running around killing shit and hoping I didn’t die. More than once. Almost twice.”

“You loved it,” he said, almost cajoling. “You still do.”

“I loved the parts where I met you,” she said. “All of them. I loved the parts where I was shot, shot at, became the galaxy soccer mom, almost died, died, and saw you take a rocket to the face a lot less. In that ascending order of ‘fuck this shit, I’m out’.”

Garrus snorted a laugh. Of course, that damned rocket would come after dying. “Yeah, okay. But would you rather have been farming on a colony somewhere, hoping not to be harvested while someone else was doing the saving?” He poked her ribs gently. “While Anderson was wandering the galaxy trying to make friends with turians? Better yet, _Williams_?”

It was Shepard’s turn to laugh. “We would have been so fucked.”

“No comment,” he said with a smile, pushing a stray lock of hair from her face. “No argument, either, though.”

“I know she’s older than I was when I shipped out. Or you for that matter. I know she knows what she’s doing, and she is going to clean their goddamn clocks. But.” Shepard sighed again. “She’s my baby. _Our_ baby. I’m--” She stopped and took a breath. It took an act of god to get anything near tears out of her, and this was no exception. Her jaw was set so tight with the effort of controlling herself, Garrus was afraid for the structural integrity of her blunt little human teeth, but she just took another breath and went on. “It’s hard to believe that she’s a grown woman, degree in hand, biotic training under her belt, running off to Alliance officer training because the faster she can get to Spectre, the better. It’s... madness. All I can think of when I look at her is--” she trailed off.

“All I can think of is that tiny, pink grub with her smashed pug nose and all that red hair,” Garrus finished. “And of you holding her.”

Shepard didn’t bother answering out loud. She pushed herself higher up onto the pile of pillows and buried her face against his cowl. 

“She’s fine,” he said, partially to Shepard, partially to himself. He tried again. “It’s the way of the world. We get old, our children acquire glory for the family name. We retire somewhere warm and let them have the adventures while we complain about the lawn and the cost of ammunition. We drink too much and have loud, unfettered sex on the kitchen counters again because no one else is home to scandalize, while our kids think we play bridge with the rest of the old folk. It’s ideal.”

This time Shepard did laugh, even if it was a shaky sort of coughing laughter. She wrapped her arm around his neck and laid there quietly for a while before she spoke again.

“We can make that kitchen counter thing happen whenever you want, you know,” she said, pressing her forehead to his with more force than strictly necessary. “It’s just a timing thing.” 

Garrus had never been the smoothest operator, but he knew an opening when he saw one --innuendo definitely intended-- and this was classic Shepard-speak for ‘please distract me’. He ran a hand up her bare thigh and let it rest on the curve of her hip.

“We have a bathroom counter and a door that locks reasonably well right now; A trial run couldn’t hurt.”

###

“Hey Booger,” the recording said. In an olive drab tank top and dog tags, Annika looked exhausted, and her bright red hair was… _gone_. Cropped so close to her head as to be invisible. Damian tilted his head at the recording and listened hard. “Training is fucking terrible, but I’m kicking so much ass. The guys here are either real dicks or really great, so about a normal mix, I’d say. Mom’s probably losing her shit right now, but remember that means Dad is too, so be extra nice to him for me. You know, pretend he’s mom or something,” she said with a smirk. A hand belonging to someone off-screen shoved Annika’s shoulder and a voice could be heard.

“Your girlfriend is a goddamn beast,” said the voice. “I swear to god, never let her near your balls.”

“Ugh, Drummond, back the fuck off, it’s for my brother. Fucking ass,” Annika said, returning to the recording without pause. “Sorry. Like I said--” she raised her voice, “dicks or they like to suck them,” and suddenly she was accompanied by a chorus of obscene slurping and smacking sounds off-screen. At that, she looked down and laughed. “Are you seeing this? Please reconsider leaving for the Hierarchy. They can’t possibly be this mentally challenged, but they still can’t be that much better.” She made eye contact with the camera again. “Anyway, I better get out of here. Just wanted to say that I love you, kid. Go do something fun. I’mma go break stuff.” 

Damian poked at his omnitool and watched the message one more time before starting one of his own. He had no idea what to say to that. _Have fun? Good for you? You sound like a meathead?_ He frowned at his own image and cut the message when a knock sounded at the door. 

“Come in,” he said without asking who it was, having recognized the footsteps.

“Hey,” said his sister Lauren. Taller and more solid than both his mother and Annika but nowhere near his six-foot, teenaged-turian frame, she was wearing what appeared to be workout clothes, her wild auburn curls barely contained in a lazy bun and secured with a headband. “I got a message from Annika.”

“Me too,” he grumped as he sat up. “She looks... “

“Like a meathead,” Lauren finished, plopping onto his bed and scooting up to sit next to him. 

“I wasn’t gonna say it,” Damian said with a smile, and Lauren laughed.

“It’s weird though,” Lauren said, poking at her omnitool until it displayed the miniature Annika on her tiny screen, shorn and belligerent and loving every minute of it. 

“We knew she was gonna do it,” Damian said with a shrug. “She has literally wanted to be a Spectre every day of our lives. Except she didn’t want to admit it because Mom.” 

“Still,” Lauren sighed. “And you’re the idiot thinking about going through with this Hierarchy bullshit.”

Damian shrugged again. “It’s my job. One of us should go. You’ve got zero interest, Annika didn’t want to waste her biotics, and I’m…” he paused. “I’m the only one who won’t melt in the radiation. So.”

“Kid,” Lauren said, as though she were so much more than two years his senior. “The Turian responsibility speech is a real thing, but it’s your life. Our family doesn’t owe them shit, and I say that with all love for Grandpa and Aunt Sol. I mean, look at her.” She tilted her head to the tiny Annika on her screen. “Is that what you want for yourself? To make bad fellatio jokes with a bunch of sweaty recruits who secretly just want to be one or both of your parents?”

Damian tipped his head back and let his cowl hit the wall with a _thump_. “Cassia is already a ranked member of the Hierarchy. Ronin started last year. I am the only actual turian on our side of the family and I’ve put it off for two years. I’ve got one more before it’s too late to muster in as a Mandatory. What are they gonna do if I say, ‘no thanks, guys. I’m good.’? What’s Grandpa gonna say?”

“Ok first, to hell with that,” said Lauren, raising fingers to count off. “We’re not our cousins. Second, still to hell with that; let the cousins be the good turians and we’ll be the all kinds of bad ones if it means we choose our own path. And third, to hell some more with that. Do what you want to do. Let everything else go hang, Grandpa included, even though I love the grumpy old varren. If Dad can be a bad turian and still be a badass, so can we. If we want. Which I don’t want. But if you wanted--” she shrugged. “You’d figure it out, is what I’m saying. I mean. What _do_ you want?”

“Pffft,” he said, shutting his eyes. “When I figure it out, I’ll let you know.”

“Do that,” Lauren said. “And anyone gives you trouble for it, I’ll kick their ass. I may not be as proficient at it as Buttmunch Minimom over there, but since she’s off playing soldier, I’ve got your back.”

Damian snorted a laugh. Lauren poked the ‘reply’ button on her omnitool and held it up so they were both in the camera’s field of vision. 

“Hey Buttmunch,” said Lauren. “It’s your siblings. Thanks for pausing in your grabassery to remember we exist.”

“You totally look like a meathead,” said Damian, cracking one eye to peer into the camera. “Dad’s gonna be so pissed about your hair.”

“Whatever. He’s got bigger worries anyway,” Lauren continued. “Mom is literally dying on the inside and she thinks we can’t tell, and Dad is sure you’re gonna be a superstar hero but also that you’re gonna die, depending on the minute.”

“Congratulations,” added Damian. “You broke our parents. Ass.” Lauren actually laughed there.

“Oh! Vhorr says hi,” said Lauren. “She’s been walking me around campus and introducing me to all of her engineer nerds, including this smooooking hot third-year transfer from Earth. Smokin’. I mean the arms on this kid--” 

“I didn’t hear about this!” Damian said, sitting up further. “Why did I not hear about this?”

“You’re on a strictly need-to-know basis when it comes to men I want to do filthy things to, and you did not need to know,” Lauren said with a shrug. “Annika did, though.”

“You’re right. I didn’t need to know,” agreed Damian, who then looked plaintively into the camera. “Do you see what you’ve done?”

“Anyway, we love your stupid meathead face,” Lauren said.

“Yeah, so. Keep it attached,” Damian added. “And um, don’t let those other meatheads win at anything.”

“Yeah!” said Lauren, full of forced excitement. “Smash them like the insects they are. Um, go you!” 

“So I guess, call us if you need us?” said Damian. 

“True! We will legit commandeer a vessel to come get you. Or issue an orbital strike or something. We know a guy who knows a guy.”

“Oh yeah-- Gisele says hi, too. And El.” 

“Anyway, talk to you later,” said Lauren, holding a fist up as though to bump the camera, only slightly surprised when Damian did the same. 

“Love you,” said Damian. 

Lauren added, “What he said,” poked the ‘send’ button, and then sighed, “Meathead.”

###

“Shepard-Vakarians stick together,” Annika sighed quietly, watching the message from her siblings for the fourth time in the cramped confines of her bunk, struggling with the idea that she would never live at home anymore, never harass Damian to turn his music down or listen to Lauren snoring all night. Here in this smelly barracks was her life; it was her own to make, and she seemed to be doing a pretty alright job so far if the weekly standings were to be believed, but still. 

Simultaneously uplifted, saddened, and terrified, Annika flopped backward onto the thin pillow and stared at the frame above her. 

“Hey,” hissed a voice too close to her ear for comfort, and her eyes automatically narrowed.

“What, Drummond,” she said, turning very slightly to be able to see him with just the closest eye, tone totally flat.

“We’re uh. Gonna go for a little stroll. Maybe find a little snack,” only at ‘snack’, he made the interstellar sign for ‘drinking’. 

“Are you kidding me?” Annika growled. “We’re literally hiking 20 miles in eight hours.”

“Ohhhh, shot down,” came Colina’s taunt from the bunk below. 

Annika and Drummond both hissed, “Shut the fuck up,” and their conversation continued otherwise seamlessly.

“Come on. You’re The Beast. It’s not even gonna slow you down.” His tone was not at all wheedling; it was a matter of fact declaration, and Annika was strangely flattered but--

“I--” she began, only to have Colina break in again. 

“No way Commander Straightandnarrow is breaking curfew, Drummond. Let’s go.” 

Annika swung out of her bunk in what appeared to be one smooth motion, whacking Colina with her stockinged feet in the process. He fell back onto his bunk with an ‘oof’, and she gave him a crooked smirk before leaning over for her boots. 

“Sorry,” she muttered. “So what’s the plan?”

###

Damian was not nearly as stealthy as his father. Shepard heard him coming from a figurative mile away.

“Mom?” he said tentatively, stopping at the edge of the office, rubbing his talons on his hips. She narrowed her eyes at the show of nerves, but smiled anyway.

“In the flesh,” she said, beckoning him forward. “What’s the matter, kid?”

“Nothing. Mostly,” he crept in and sat at the chair positioned at the end of her desk. Then he blurted out, “I need to go see Grandpa.”

Shepard set down the datapad she’d been looking at and tilted her head at him, taking in his bright green eyes, his totally unmarred face that echoed the shape and planes of Garrus’ face when she’d first met him. He sported markings that indicated his origins as off-Palaven, but in a blue that matched those of the Vakarian family. She couldn’t help but smile hugely at him, her strong, handsome, youngest, even though her stomach clenched as a clear idea of why he wanted to go crystallized in her mind.

“Grandpa, huh? OK, when?”

“Now? I mean,” he cleared his throat and ran a hand over his fringe. “Soon?”

“You know, Damian, we’ve been over this,” she said carefully. “You don’t have to join the Hierarchy if you don’t want to.”

“I know,” he said, looking guilty though there didn’t seem to be anything for which he should feel guilty. “It’s just--”

“Is this about Annika?”

“No!” he said with a definitive headshake. “No. It’s about me.”

“And this is what you want?”

“I-- no. Yes. I have-- no idea,” he said with an unamused huff of laughter. “I really don’t. But I figure if I talk to Grandpa about it? Maybe Aunt Sol--” he sank further into the seat, set an arm on the desk and set his chin on it. “I don’t know. I just feel like I could figure it all out better there. Not that I don’t appreciate you, or anything.”

Shepard set one arm on the desk and mirrored his position as she took hold of his hand to better regard him at eye level. “I’m so proud of you. I know I say it probably more than you want to hear it, but I mean that.”

He gave her hand a squeeze, as small as it was in his, and half-nodded. “I know, mom.”

“You and your sisters are my heart,” she said with uncharacteristic emotion laid bare. “I recognize that Annika is off on her own and will probably never be back. That Lauren is only still here because she wanted to stay in school here with Vhorr. That you’re on the precipice of a huge decision, that you’re not a baby anymore. I mean, you’ll always be my baby-- sorry not sorry about that,” she said with a faint smirk. “Your adult life is about to start. There’s only so much say I get in what you do. But believe that you don’t have to follow anyone’s footsteps. Make your own way.”

If pressed, Shepard would tell you that you were an idiot for asking if she had a favorite child. She truly did not. Her daughters were bright, strong, capable women of whom she was desperately, deeply proud. It just happened that Damian had loved her as only sons can love their mothers from the day he’d come home to them, and he --unlike his sisters-- would always actually consider her advice before disregarding it entirely. 

After a long moment, he said, “I hear you.” Then he shifted to stare off into space. 

“You still want to go though,” she said, more a statement than a question.

“I do,” he agreed. 

“Then we’ll get it taken care of,” she said, still watching him.

“I’m sorry--” he started to say, but she cut him off.

“Don’t apologize,” she said, squeezing his hand. “You’re making a decision you can stand by, there’s nothing to be sorry for.”

“Then why do I feel like I need to apologize?” he said, with no small amount of frustration.

Shepard sighed, offering him a tiny smile. “When you figure that out, kid, let me know.” 

###

It had only been an hour since Drummond (and Colina) had convinced her to come along on their escapade, but they were already half in the bag in a breezeway behind the janitorial suite thanks to a poorly-stowed bottle of brandy and a foolishly unlocked door of the officer’s mess. They were sitting cross-legged in a rough half-moon formation beside a stack of cargo crates that left Annika watching the east approach, Drummond watching the west, and Colina firmly against the wall and on the hook to divert nearby drones via omnitool.

“What’s it like, though?” asked Colina out of nowhere, and Annika tilted her head at him.

“What’s what like?”

“You know,” he said with a nod, taking another drink from the bottle. “The whole Shepard thing. You know your parents are legendary, dude. It’s just unreal. I grew up watching vids about them.” Annika shrugged. 

“Did your parents make you eat vegetables and play soccer and do schoolwork?” she asked. Colina shrugged, too.

“I mean, yeah, but--”

“OK, so, that’s what it’s like. Only every now and then, someone stops us in public to hug or cry at my mom and pat me and my sibs on the head and bless us.”

“Yeah but none of us are-- uh,” said Drummond, eyeing her over the bottle, “you breeze through here like it’s all kid stuff.”

“Dad’s been taking me shooting since I could hold a gun, and I’ve been going to the gym with my mom since I was born. I presented biotic early? I have aunts that are hardcore biotics who were more than happy to train me. It’s not magical hereditary badassery,” Annika said, snatching the bottle from Drummond and taking a pull. “I’m lucky, but I work fucking hard. I always have.” She pulled a face and licked her lips. “Ugh. Anyway, you should meet my siblings. They think I’m a meathead too, if that helps.”

Drummond snorted a laugh and Colina shoved her shoulder, muttering something foul. Annika made to hand the bottle back to Colina, but just then a shuffling sounded off from behind her and she was up in a crouch. 

“Shit,” hissed Colina, as Annika grabbed Drummond and pulled him back towards the wall. She squinted hard to be able to make out the shape patrolling the throughway fifty feet down and made a few mental calculations. The brandy was slowing her down a little, but she had it under control. 

“Listen,” she whispered authoritatively. “I’m going to create a distraction, then we’re going to haul ass that way--” she pointed away from the patrol. “if we get separated, just keep going, understand?”

“What--” said Colina, just as Drummond said, “Got it.” 

Annika had no time to explain, and settled for hissing, “Ready?”

Drummond slapped his hand onto Colina’s shoulder and nodded. Annika returned the gesture adding a salute with fingertips that had already begun glowing blue. She pitched the brandy bottle underhand towards the patrolling marine and it flew impossibly slowly, low to the ground without chaos, passing silently behind him. After another everlasting half second, it clattered against and half around the corner of the far building, causing the marine to start, and head instead in that direction, muttering about goddamn raccoons.

Without another warning, Annika ran, crouched low, biting her lip not to laugh.

###

“Damian! Damian, wait!” 

It was Lauren doing the shouting, of course, jogging and waving something in one hand, Vhorr close behind muttering excuses and apologies to all of the people they were brushing past as they ran down the gangway. 

Two C-Sec officers made to stop them as they arrived at the walkway to the ship Damian was about to board, but a crewman who was standing at the airlock shouted his approval, and they stood down. Lauren didn’t stop until she had barrelled entirely into her little brother, who caught her with an ‘oof’. 

“I was worried you weren’t gonna make it,” he said, squishing his sister an appropriate amount, then holding one arm out to Vhorr. His de facto cousin was still gangly for a krogan despite being older than Annika, and her propensity to forgo armor in favor of custom hoodies and cargo pants made it so that he could readily fit her into the three-way hug.

“Lauren just had to stop,” Vhorr said, squeezing back. “And then there was a line, and we had trouble with the transport, and--”

“Shuddup, he needed them,” said Lauren, pulling away, eyes not at all wet as she shoved a paper bag at Damian. “Here.”

“What--” he said as he peered into the bag, edges made sweaty where Lauren had gripped the rolled-over top. Inside, there was a pile of dextro jerky from the little shop nearest dad’s office on the Presidium. “Oh man,” he added with a grin as he pointed over his shoulder at the ship he was about to board. “You know I’m actually going to Palaven. Right now. Like, the place where they started making this stuff.”

“Yeah, but these are from home,” said Lauren. “That makes them better. And who knows when--” she hiccuped a little, and Damian took the opportunity to interrupt. 

“I’m just going to talk to Grandpa and Aunt Sol, Lauren,” he said with an eyeroll, even as he caught her elbow and squeezed with the hand not holding the bag of snacks. “I’ll be back in no time.”

“Oh, OK, sure,” she said, sounding a little underwater. “Right up until they give you the Turian Responsibility hard sell.” She sniffed and scrubbed at her cheeks with the hem of her sleeve. 

“Come on,” he said, but Lauren’s shoulders dropped as she tilted her head at him. 

“Damian, please. You’re-- so fucking noble. They’ll see you coming a mile off and you’ll be in fatigues before you know it.” He shrugged at her and shook her arm just a little.

“I don’t have an answer for that,” he said. “Maybe you’re right, and maybe I’ll chicken out anyway. I have no idea, but I’m not going to figure it out here.”

“I know, I know. I just-- I’m gonna miss you, you know?” The last two words were only suggestions of words, washed away by incipient tears, but Damian understood. He hugged her again, the bag crumpling a little more against her back. 

“I’m gonna miss you, too. So much,” he said to the top of her lumpy, auburn topknot. “At least you have Vhorr. All I have is an impossible legacy and a poorly-thought-out life plan.” Lauren found the wherewithal to snort at that, as did Vhorr, both in an uncanny echo of classic Urdnot Wrex.

“I’m definitely better company than that,” Vhorr agreed. 

“You definitely are,” both siblings said in unison.

“Get a room or get on the ship,” said the Turian crewman from the gangway, whose glares they’d been studiously ignoring for only about the last minute or two.

“He’s my brother,” Lauren shot back at the same time as Damian said, “This is my sister.”

“Right. Don’t care,” the crewman shrugged. “Ship’s leaving with or without you.”

“Last chance,” Lauren said with a watery smile, standing back. 

“Don’t be dramatic,” Damian answered, with a comparable trill in his subharmonics. “A couple of weeks, tops.” His sister offered a rueful nod, and Vhorr reached over to shove Damian gently.

“Get out of here before she drags you off the dock,” she rumbled with a nod to the ship. “Or that man shoves you off.”

Damian cast a glance over his shoulder to see the crewman throwing up a hand and turning to go.

“I gotta--” he said, taking a fast step back. “I’ll message you when I get there.” Lauren shooed him off, and before she could say anything else, he turned and sprinted for the doorway, which sealed tightly behind him. 

Lauren turned to Vhorr, but before she could say anything, Vhorr held up a hand and pointed towards the way they entered. 

“Come on. You have a few minutes to pull it together before we spend a couple of hours in the lab.”

“I’m not sure I have it in me to quietly go insane over differential equations while the big brains redesign infrastructure and re-plan worlds,” Lauren sighed. She shot a last look at the entirely shut door before finally following Vhorr, as though the C-Sec officers weren’t bellowing for them to get gone. 

“That’s a shame,” said Vhorr as they passed the glaring officers, “--thank you both, so sorry for the trouble, really appreciate it-- because I’m 95 percent sure Adam’s going to be there, and I am equally certain that he is very good at diffEqs.” She shrugged. I mean, you’re technically an adult now, I guess, so I don’t have to look out for you anym--”

“Shut up,” Lauren said, audibly perkier, offering the unimpressed officers a perfunctory wave. “I’m coming with you.”

“It’s a Hyrrthrakian miracle!” Vhorr said in a breathy voice, hand to her chest. Lauren pulled up short.

“Vhorr, my little brother is off to join the fucking Turian Hierarchy and you’ve sidetracked me with the promise of this man’s biceps. What is wrong with me?”

“...You’re a young female human, and he’s a prime specimen of your species? Also, your brother is also technically an adult and this has been literally years coming?” Vhorr offered in her flat, scientific dissection tone. “I’m more surprised you’re… well. Being this dramatic about it. Your parents aren’t even here making a scene. It’s just you.”

Lauren paused and stared at Vhorr for a long moment. 

“To be honest? I don’t have the best feeling about this,” she finally said. “Maybe I just want to be the big sister, and maybe I’m being emotional but--” she shrugged. “--wait. Where are the parentals?”

###

“Probably should have seen him off at the dock and told these people to get bent,” Shepard muttered under breath at Garrus. They were standing shoulder to shoulder (really shoulder to elbow, but--) against a far wall in the room for this Council meeting that had been touted as compulsory, but so far it had been more ridiculous posturing and bloviating over traffic through the Citadel relay.

“Lauren’s there,” Garrus muttered right back, “and Vhorr. And we’ve already said our goodbyes. No need to stir up more trouble just by showing up. And you know it.”

“Right,” agreed Shepard, “but I wouldn’t have had to stand through another hour of this shit.” Garrus huffed a laugh.

“You had input, Councilor Shepard?” the Asari councilor asked with an unmistakable tone, and Shepard was forced to respond using her I’m-Actually-Listening-to-this-Bullshit face without missing a beat. 

“We’ve gotten all of the exigent traffic through the relay, and no one is trapped here that doesn’t want to be at this point”, shrugged Shepard. “There’s no reason we can’t go back to pre-war priority resolution and route any issues directly to the very specific, very successful,” a nod in Garrus’ direction, “C-Sec task force, and we agreed to this last week, meaning that we’re currently just putting on a show for anyone who’s listening.” The last was said with a nod towards a group of frowning observers that included a Salarian, a Volus, and two Batarians. “And they would already know that if they were willing to accept the press releases since the current Council has no reason to lie and no track record of having done so.” She stood fully and straightened her jacket unnecessarily. “Why don’t we ask them what part of the agreement pisses them off most, and then we can really get some work done here?”

The remainder of the Council murmured to themselves while the guest Salarian visibly huffed. Garrus coughed politely to cover the snort of laughter he was holding in, while the Asari councilor threw her hands up. 

“Honestly, Shepard, there are protocols!”

“Honestly, Morena, we’re all adults,” Shepard shrugged. “What say we cut the crap?”

“Fine,” said the Volus, sucking in a deep breath before continuing. “The represented Council major races are getting unfair special treatment, and we’re sick of it. We less prominent races are getting squeezed for “priority fees” under the table at every outpost relay and--” 

“Hold up--” Garrus interrupted, hand out. “Priority fees?” The Volus responded with an accusing finger.

“Don’t act like you don’t”-- a sucking breath-- “know. It’s your task force. And everyone is too afraid to speak. Well, I’ve had it. We’ve all had it. You-- you--” The taller, more grizzled Batarian took advantage of the pause due to another prolonged inhale to chime in. Shepard did her damndest not to wince at his bellowed accusations. Of course, every Batarian she met was a silent accusation only she could hear, but that was beside the current point. 

“Thanks to the reckless actions of specific members of this Council, there aren’t enough of us left to be able to afford to do business at the Citadel, or get involved in Council politics, while you all accuse my people of being isolationists. Rather convenient, don’t you think?”

The Salarian raised his hand and spoke next, “That’s why we’ve become involved.” She nodded to the Salarian councilor. “We’re gravely concerned about the abuse of the minority Council races at the hands of the current Council, whose mouthpiece appears to be humanity’s barbarous champion, backed by a galaxy currently being recklessly refilled by Krogan.” It took Shepard a second to process that they were referring to her, and she glowered. The Krogan councilor outright growled, but otherwise said nothing. 

“I come here every day just like your councilor and everyone else in this room to keep fighting for every last one of you, barbarian or not,” Shepard shot back. The Batarian who had remained silent responded.

“Unlike my colleague, I do not blame Councilor Shepard for the Great Culling. Destruction of the relay was an unfortunate calculus of war.” His voice was low and melodic. “We aren’t surprised that the council is using the misfortunes of our people to fund your own. We however no longer have the capacity to play along.”

“Regardless of what you think of those of us in this room and the Council in general,” Garrus opened with, “there are no sanctioned priority fees, and we have no knowledge of it. We’re not officially squeezing the minority races, as you can clearly see in the public budget.” The Volus sucked in a breath to retort, but Garrus didn’t give him the opportunity. “I do believe that this is happening to you, though. So the question is, who is?”

“Preposterous!” declared the Volus, and both the Salarian and the louder Batarian began to point and speak, but the second Batarian held his hand for silence, and oddly, they heeded.

“Do you really wish us to believe that there’s a coordinated effort to bilk the unrepresented Council races and the head of the Relay Task Force is unaware?”

“Yes,” said both Shepard and Garrus at the same time. Shepard went on. “Listen, I don’t know what you’ve heard, but we’re here to rebuild. That’s what we’ve dedicated our lives to since the war. It’d be a pretty shitty legacy to have saved the galaxy from destruction just to become the villains.” 

The quiet Batarian held her gaze for a long moment, then nodded once. “How do we proceed?”


	2. March 2216

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two years later, plans that were set in motion are following their projected trajectories, and none of them are easy.

“I’m really goddamn tired of being blamed for saving everyone’s asses,” Shepard sighed once they were well clear of the meeting. “Again. I’m starting to see the appeal of retiring to deep space.”

“I suppose just because two Batarians don’t think you’re a monster doesn’t mean the rest still don’t hate you,” shrugged Garrus. “Be nice if they could shut the hell up about it for five minutes though.”

“Or! Better. Picture it-- you, me, a commandeered Normandy, floating in the black of space beyond any habitable systems with just a bunch of fish and a copy of EDI for company. Clothing optional,” Shepard said, undeterred. “The kids could even come and visit occasionally. We’d put clothes on for that, though.”

Garrus slung a companionable arm around her shoulders as they walked the length of the Presidium. “Sounds fantastic. But there’d be no beer with Vega and Williams, no wine with Miranda, no shots with Jack--” He paused to nod to a passing Elcor. “--no permanently reserved table at the Starfish. Too far to properly menace this Adam kid...”

“That reminds me, there’s some pre-graduation parent thing this weekend? Shit.” Shepard pulled up her omnitool to check what it might be but was instead distracted by a news kiosk flashing a photograph. “What the--” The identity was unmistakable-- it was a face she’d been staring at in the mirror every morning that she had a mirror to look into; green eyes still bright after these years, trademark red hair longer now than it had been in her youth but still untouched by gray, dressed in the casual black cargos and long-sleeves that she tended towards when she wasn’t working. The look on her face was downright menacing, which meant it was probably captured by a reporter she’d crossed paths with on the street.

“...human Councilor Shepard, commonly seen as the savior of the Citadel and civilization at large by most Council citizens, has been heavily involved in the system and Citadel rebuilding efforts,” the overly calm newsreader reported, “but sources close to the Council have revealed that her blunt, heavy-handed style and fraught history with the Batarians is making their reconstruction effort all but impossible, saying quote, ‘Expecting diplomacy from even a lapsed Spectre is like expecting fine sculpture from a jackhammer.’ While by all accounts, rebuilding has gone according to plan, there have always been detractors blaming Councilor Shepard for a lack of attention to the unrepresented Council races and smaller colonies, some of whom went so far to make their displeasure known as to attempt to abduct the children she shares with fellow “lapsed” Spectre and top C-Sec official Garrus Vakarian some twelve years ago. More recently, both were entirely exonerated in the “priority fee” scandal some two years ago that led to a thorough overhaul and restructuring of the task force that oversees the use and repair of the galaxy’s mass relays. As a result, Councilor Shepard was a driving force behind the creation of an official advisory board that includes representatives of every Council race, regardless of population size. Though the intent was purportedly to give voice to all Council races, it is as yet unclear whether this board is more conciliatory than functional. More details as they come in.”

The holo switched to a shot of some popstar or another and Shepard turned an incredulous look up at Garrus, who had covered the bottom half of his face with the hand not on her shoulders. After a beat, he broke the silence.

“Gotta admit, deep space is looking really good right about now.”

###

“Gentlemen, did you hear that?” Annika said into her comms, voice pitched low as she peered down the barrel of her latest-model Widow. The scope showed her no movement some 100 yards downrange on a city street that had been bombarded sometime recently, but there had been a clatter too loud to be caused by the wind.

“Copy that, Nik. Pretty sure it came from up on the west side of the bank tower,” came Drummond’s voice in her ear. 

“Agreed,” said Colina. “That shadow was no bird.”

“Standby,” Annika said as she refocused on the bank building. It looked as though there was enough rubble to approach on the street, but she didn’t like it. “Might be time for the bottle trick,” she murmured.

“We could move up on it, draw some fire and let you take ‘em from here when they show their ugly faces,” suggested Colina. 

“That could work, but I don’t want to break up the squad over that large a range,” she answered, watching the building’s gaping walls. “They’ve got too protected a position-- I wouldn’t be able to cover you with biotics if it goes sideways.”

“So let’s creep on ‘em,” said Drummond. 

“Yep,” she agreed. “Drummond, you take point. Colina, watch his six. You two take the extreme flank, I’ll come up in a little more obvious position and give ‘em a show.”

“Heh,” said Colina. “Remember to do that shimmy thing.”

Annika snapped her targeting visor down, as the corner of her mouth pulled up just barely. “Oh, I’ve definitely got a shimmy for them.” She reached for a rock the size of her head and floated it ahead of her, her hand now enveloped by a biotic halo. “Move out.”

Drummond and Colina began their wide circle by creeping into the blown-out building to their right, picking their way over broken plate glass and chunks of masonry while Annika began purposefully moving from cover to cover down what was once the sidewalk. Overturned cars and chunks of buildings made excellent but imperfect cover, which was exactly the effect she was going for. She angled the rock to about head-level some ten feet ahead of her, using it as an imaginary squadmate.

“Movement spotted,” came Colina’s voice over the comms. “Two o’clock, second-floor windows by the safe door.” Annika hazarded a look around the trunk of the car she’d been hunkering against and caught the barest suggestion of a glint of metal in the sun.

“I gotta give it to ‘em,” she said. “They’re good.”

“But we’re better,” said Drummond. “Almost at the base of the building.”

“Copy that,” Annika said. “In three… two…” She flung the rock ahead of herself and suddenly the glint was a gun barrel and a single, responsible shot rang out. The sound was flat and surprisingly quiet in the abandoned street and she suddenly couldn’t help but feel like she’d missed something. “I got a little bite.”

“Breaching the building now,” Colina said in her ear. 

“Copy,” said Annika. “Time for the big bait.” She sprinted for the next huge chunk of building and felt the impacts on her barriers before she heard them. A “bomp” and rough push that hadn’t been quite rough enough to do much. “Taking fire, proceed at will.”

Annika broke cover briefly to fire several shots in the direction of her attackers, just covering fire while she took aim. Sure enough, they’d ducked back down, and she took that moment to aim so carefully at where she’d last seen the glint of metal and waited. Another movement and she made to take a breath in preparation for the shot when she realized her mistake. It was just in time to spin her back to the truck instead and shore up her barriers enough to blunt a shotgun blast that came from the other side of the street in its entirety. 

“Oop, I’ve got a live one down here,” she said, leaving the barrier up as she took a moment to lob a concussion grenade over the concrete slab. “Shit!” she said as it stopped in midair and came flying back. Without another thought, she slapped it away with her rifle, reached out, and warped the block. The entire concrete crumbled, exposing a soldier also in black not five meters from her position and leveling the same shotgun in her direction.

“Nik, you good?” hissed Drummond over the comm.

“Yep. Do your thing,” she growled as she borrowed her Aunt Jack’s move and rushed the shooter, leaping after two running steps and boosting herself with a biotic throw despite the gunfire aimed at her. The shooter pulled their head back in surprise as she landed on them, her full weight taking them out as more shots bounced off of the back of her barrier. She held her un-extended omniblade at their neck as she crouched on their body. “Hey there,” she said, conversationally.

“Your barrier won’t hold forever,” said the person on the ground. A woman, as it turned out, though a larger one than Annika, even in her current buffest state. 

“It doesn’t have to,” Annika responded, and as if on cue, the shots stopped with the sounds of a brief struggle and a whoop.

“Targets down, bosslady,” said Drummond. “You get their third?”

“Yep,” Annika snorted a laugh but didn’t move her fist from the shooter’s throat, speaking loudly enough to be heard. “Her dead body makes a good seat.” 

“Fuck you, Shepard,” said the shooter, who let her head bang down gracelessly. 

“First, it’s Shepard-Vakarian,” said Annika as she pulled her hand back from the prone woman’s neck. She popped to her feet and offered a hand up, which earned her a glare even as Tran took it. “And second, we’re on the clock, Tran, but ask me again later,” she added with a smirk. Tran swore and shoved past her. 

“Good job, marines,” came a new voice through their comms. “Debrief point is two klicks southwest of your current location.”

“Copy that,” said Annika. “Varren Squad is heading in.”

“Boys, boys, boys!” Annika singsonged out loud. 

“Here, here, here!” called Drummond and Colina in kind from the open side of the building at which she’d just been aiming concussive rounds.

“Such fucking children,” Tran spat. 

“Hey now,” said Annika as she beckoned for them to join her. “We children just kicked your ass.” Said boys jumped lightly down through the open building, landing with a crunch, and were followed by the rest of Tran’s squad.

“You rely on your biotics instead of your brains, and it’s going to kill you,” said Tran as she began the walk without waiting to see if Annika followed. Annika tilted her head, her annoyance increasing.

“I’m not sure you understand how that works,” Annika said, refusing to chase her down. “And you fucking used yours to lob that grenade right back at me!”

Tran turned some ten feet away and spread her hands at Annika. “You ran at someone shooting in your face. You wouldn’t last an hour without relying on that shit.”

“I don’t have to,” said Annika, brow furrowed. “I’m using all the tactical advantages I have. Don’t be a sore loser.”

“Call me whatever you like,” Tran said, turning away. “But when your ass fails to cover mine because you’re too busy thinking you’re hot magical shit, then we’ll see who’s sore.”

“Salty. Ass. Bitch,” murmured Drummond as he and Colina came up behind and to the right of her. Annika held a silent hand down low and Colina slapped it without thought as he came up on her left.

“Should have seen the looks on Miller and Martinez when we came out of nowhere on ‘em though,” Colina said. “Classic.”

Annika tracked Tran as she joined up with Miller and Martinez, the latter of whom turned and tossed them a lazy salute. Annika returned it with a nod, but something gnawed at her. Suddenly she whipped her head around to look at Colina. “He didn’t say the exercise was over.”

“...fuck,” said Drummond, just as the wall of the building some fifty feet ahead and to the right of Tran and her team exploded in a hail of rubble and dust. A swarm of training bots armed with more concussive canons came through the hole in the building and there was shouting on the comms as both squads scrambled. 

“Tran!” Annika shouted into their general comms, her shields coming up again as she charged forward. “I’ve got eyes on at least eight coming for you. We’re on the way.”

“Are we, though?” said Colina, even as he sprinted along with her. Annika couldn’t help a small laugh.

“Hell yes,” she said, vaulting a chunk of masonry and rushing up on another large enough to serve as cover. “Gotta save her ass and prove her wrong.”

###

“Morning, sunshine,” said a deep, sleepy voice over her shoulder as a very well-defined arm snaked around her middle. Lauren smiled into the sheet, her wild mass of auburn hair half covering her face.

“Mmmm hello, there, handsome,” she said as he dropped a kiss on her shoulder. 

“I’d really like to explore this line of conversation further, but--” he sighed heavily. “But I’ve got to get to the office. Just wanted to make sure you were up before I got going.”

“...It’s Saturday?” she said, her raised eyebrow audible even as she turned to try and get a look at him. 

“True, but--” he shrugged. “That’s the life of a junior engineer. It’s exciting.”

“Adam--” she said, interrupted as he leaned in to kiss her thoroughly, yet somehow... distractedly?

“Sorry, love,” he said, rolling out of bed and already heading for the bathroom.

“I’m heading out for Rannoch this afternoon?” she said by way of an explicit reminder since the subtle ones had failed so spectacularly. 

“Ohhh… shit,” he said, leaning back, exaggerating his backpedal back into the room. “That’s today!” 

Lauren couldn’t help the grin from taking over even though her brow was still furrowed. “Yes! Finally! Four weeks groundside and in the Flotilla.” She took in his expression and added, “I’ll miss you, though. Obviously.” Funny-- why hadn’t she thought to say it first?

“I still think it’s a waste of time and talent,” he shrugged, hands moving to his hips. Heat flared in Lauren’s chest and she immediately remembered why she hadn’t said ‘I’ll miss you’ as a matter of course. “But if it’s what you want to do, I won’t stand in your way.”

Lauren tilted her head. “It’s _today_ , Adam. You couldn’t stand in my way if you tried at this point.” She said it lightly, but she was only a little surprised that she meant it.

“Well,” he said, as though there was an argument he just didn’t feel like making. He came back and sat on her side of the bed, brown eyes twinkling and dimple showing as he set a hand on her hip and rubbed slow circles through the sheet. “Enjoy your little trip, and I’ll be here waiting for you.”

“...It’s not a _little trip_ , ass. It’s the basis of my thesis work,” Lauren said, as though he didn’t already know this. 

“Right,” he agreed, twisting to set a knee on the bed instead, and coming up as though he was making to kiss her. “But you know you just want to come back and work on the relays with me, though, so,” he did kiss her with just a little heat, just teasing. “Have fun out in the deep, while you can.”

God. Every word out of his mouth just… _rankled_. That couldn’t be right. She kissed him anyway.

“I will,” she said. 

“Okay,” he said. “Although, if you’re gonna be gone for four weeks--” he added, beginning to look a little more interested and a little less placating. Lauren pulled back as far as she could under the circumstances. 

“Nuh-uh,” she said, but softened it with a smile. “I. Need a shower and oh god. To get human first. And you’re gonna be late!” 

He looked up at the comm station on the side table and grimaced. “Damn. I should have woken you earlier.”

“It’s ok,” she said, offering him a conciliatory kiss. “It’ll be something to look forward to.” He took it, and then he stood again. 

“Alright. I’m going for real,” he said heading back towards the shower, pausing only to look around the room. “You know, a packed bag would have reminded me. FYI.”

“Eh,” she said, standing and stretching. “Who packs before the day of a trip, anyway?” 

“People who aren’t psychopaths?” he shouted from the bathroom as he turned on the water.

Lauren waved it off. “Whatever. Psychopaths get shit done.” Did they though? She’d have to ask El. At the moment, however, she was sort of mesmerized by the sight of his backside, and frankly, she also needed a shower. And yes, she’d been annoyed with him, but... Screw it. They weren’t going to see each other for a month. She should be less annoyed by then anyway, right? Stealthily, she came up from behind and wrapped her arms around him.

“Room for a friend in there?” she asked, her mouth pressed to his shoulderblade. 

###

“Marcus. You can’t just keep doing this shit, you know that right?” 

The large, too-young turian marine hung his head. “I know.” 

Damian carefully continued wrapping his hand. “I can keep applying bandages and regen packs, but this hand will turn into a gnarled mess eventually if you keep it up.”

“I just get so nervous,” said Marcus. “And I never want to say anything.” He looked embarrassed and disheartened. “Don’t want anyone to think I’m soft. Or crazy.”

“You gotta promise me to stop punching crates, though, buddy,” Damian said gently. “We do have a gym, complete with punching bags. And! Volunteers for the beatings. The crates don’t deserve this.”

“I just,” said Marcus. “I don’t want to hurt anyone else.” 

“You shouldn’t hurt yourself either,” Damian said. Marcus flinched and all but confirmed Damian’s suspicion that hurting himself was actually part of the plan. “Let’s see. How does that feel?” 

Marcus turned his hand around and stared at it. “Yeah. That’s good.” He nodded. “Just a couple of days, right?”

“Yep,” Damian agreed. “Listen-- what is the calmest you have ever been?”

“Uh,” Marcus said, looking up. “There’s this spot back home at the edge of the city where no one goes anymore. It’s still all fucked up, but there aren’t enough people to live there, so they just left it until they can get to it. At night, you can sit on the hill and stare into the dark, and just exist.” He refocused on Damian. “That’s what I used to do when I got nervous, before I joined up.”

“Alright, here’s what I want you to do-- you ready?” said Damian. Marcus nodded gamely. “Close your eyes. I want you to picture your spot. What does it sound like?”

“Quiet. There’s some birds sometimes that only come out at night, and some of those little bagnats sometimes that squeak.” Marcus said slowly.

“What does it feel like?” Damian asked.

“Hard. The only thing to sit on is chunks of concrete. Makes your rear cold unless it was a dead hot day in the summer.”

“What does it smell like?”

Marcus huffed a small laugh. “Like dirt and dust, and weeds, too. In the spring though there are weeds that smell… flowery.”

“Nice,” said Damian. “Alright, open your eyes.” Marcus obeyed, though he still looked confused. “The next time you start feeling nervous, I want you to close your eyes and remember your place. Think about how it sounds, how it looks, how it feels, how it smells, and how it’s just your place, and no one can reach you there. By the time you’re done, you might not want to punch something anymore. And if it doesn’t work, I want you to call me on comms. Anytime, day or night. I mean it.”

“That’s a little crazy, man,” said Marcus. 

“Crazier than occasionally breaking your hand over it?” Damian said with a head tilt. 

“I guess not,” Marcus conceded with a shrug.

“Practice, too. When you’re feeling nervous at all. It’ll be easier when you need it,” Damian added. 

“Okay,” Marcus said. Hopping down from the high med bay bed. “Can I go, doc?”

“Eh. I’m just a corpsman,” said Damian. 

“You do a real good job doctoring, though,” Marcus said.

“Promise me you’ll practice?” Damian asked. 

“Yeah, yeah. I will,” Marcus agreed and took another step towards freedom. He shot a quick look to the doorway. “Thanks, doc.”

Damian let it go. “Alright, man. Take care.” 

“Sergeant,” Marcus said in greeting from what sounded to be near the infirmary doors. Damian whipped his head around and saw Shiro leaning in the doorway 

“Hey!” Damian offered as he walked to the bank of sinks and began washing his hands. “What brings you in my direction?”

“I,” said the new arrival, pausing for no good reason that Damian could hear, “wanted to see if I could come beg some more headache meds off of you.”

“Of course,” said Damian. “I’m a little worried about those headaches, though,” he added, beckoning Shiro over to a seat near another workstation. The Sergeant sort of sighed, offering almost an eyeroll as he peeled himself off of the wall and came over. 

“I told you I was going to scan you if it kept up,” Damian said as Shiro took a seat. He fiddled with the console adjacent to the seat. “And, I can only assume it’s been bad for a while because here you are just now.”

“You know, you were really good with Marcus back there,” Shiro said, so obviously deflecting, he should have been holding a shield.

Damian shot him a look that was as close as he could get to simulating his mother’s famous Eyebrow without actually having eyebrows, but responded anyway. “Marcus is a good kid. He came from a rough neighborhood down on Palaven and mustered in as soon as he could. He hasn’t had good direction or a lot of help in his life. The Hierarchy was the best thing for him, I think. He’s gonna be okay if he survives the next couple of years or so. Look straight ahead right here at my finger and don’t move,” he instructed, holding one hand up about eight inches from Shiro’s face. 

“Still--” Shiro began, but Damian interrupted. 

“Uh-uh. Don’t move,” he said, as a halo of green light encircled Shiro’s head, projected from above. The machine quietly hummed as the halo moved slowly downward and then back up. When it was done scanning, it beeped softly and shut down the halo. “Okay, go.”

“As I was saying,” Shiro said with a small smile that Damian absolutely caught, but released immediately for fear of catching anything else along with it. “You seemed to know exactly what to say to him. You’re really good at this.”

“Ah,” Damian said, finding it suddenly necessary to rub the back of his neck. “Yeah. I guess.”

“Aren’t you coming up on the end of your Mandatory?” Shiro asked.

“Yeah, actually,” Damian said. 

“You gonna stick around or go find a medical school?” 

Ah. The hundred thousand credit question. Damian had already looked into the medical schools back on the Citadel, as well as on Palaven, but frankly there was no reason for the latter. The last two years had been a crash course in turian culture and being in the majority everywhere he went, and learning about his history and his family in ways that had been impossible from the Citadel, but honestly. He just wanted to go home. And he wanted to be with people who weren’t all… turian. He was a capitol city kid, through and through, and he had come to terms with that.

“Vakarian, you with me?” said Shiro, and broke Damian’s reverie. 

“Shit, sorry,” he said with a smile, dropping into the stool at the workstation and poking at the controls to initiate analysis on Shiro’s scan, and not even correcting him on the use of both of Damian’s surnames. “Yeah. It’s… a lot. I’m still figuring it out.” That was honest enough, at least. 

“Sounds like there’s more to it,” said Shiro, leaning in a little. 

“There is,” admitted Damian. 

“So lay it on me,” said Shiro, and holy hell. Damian really did want to. 

“Nah,” said Damian, waving it off instead. “It’s. A lot.”

“So you said.” 

Damian was wondering if it was still wishing for a hole in the ground to swallow you when you were standing on a ship. Come to think of it, he’d never actually spent a lot of time on the ground, so using the expression had always been somewhat disingenuous, and hell. He was doing it again.

“I did,” he said with a smile, returning his attention to the console. “I’ll have some results in just a little while for you, though.”

“I’ve gotta get back to the bridge right now, but--” Shiro said, and Damian popped up too quickly.

“Right! Hold on,” he said, and moved to the unlocked storage bins that contained all of the not-strictly controlled substances. “Here we are.” He retrieved a small packet and returned to offer them to Shiro. “For your brains. While we figure out what’s going on. Two a day at most-- if it doesn’t take the edge off, come back ASAP.” 

“I was actually going to say that if you ever want to talk about it, I’m here,” said Shiro, taking the packet with a nod. “I hear I’m a really good listener. But thank you. I appreciate it.”

“Thanks, Sergeant,” Damian said, unsure of where to put his hands at this point. Generally, he’d offer a pat on the shoulder, or-- oh well hell. something. Oh! He offered a fist bump. “I appreciate that, too.”

“No worries, Corporal,” Shiro said, reciprocating before making to leave. “Be seeing you.”

Damian offered him a wave that immediately felt like the lamest thing he’d ever done, nodded to himself, and took a seat again at the terminal. Somehow he was sure he’d fucked all of that up, and he was equally certain that he was overthinking the whole thing anyway.

“Shepard-Vakarian,” came a voice from the back of the medbay. Damian looked up. 

“Yeah, boss,” he said. The senior corpsman, a cranky turian who acted as though he was a hundred more than his fifty years, and had admittedly seen a lot of shit, and who happened to be his mentor and friend, tilted his head at Damian. 

“That was goddamn adorable,” he said, and Damian was back to wishing for a hole in the ground. Deck. Void. Whatever.

“Fuck off, Vlad,” Damian breathed through a smile, making it a joke.

“No honestly,” said Resling. “I will bet you a shiny credit that there is not a thing wrong in his scans.”

“You’re on,” said Damian, still trying to make it funny. “And weren’t you supposed to be processing samples in the lab or something? Why am I doing your job if you’re here?”

“Because you’re so good at it, kid,” Resling said as he approached from the backroom with his hands full with a rack filled with vials. “Help me get these in the freezer.”

Damian immediately stood and opened the freezer, making sure that there was room for the rack. 

“Thanks,” said Resling, reaching in and setting them gently in the box. “I’m just saying, though. You should take him up on the offer.”

“I’m _leaving_ in literally two months. What good would it do?” asked Damian.

“Kid if you have to ask me, then you should definitely take him up on it,” said Resling. 

“No,” said Damian, holding a hand out to forestall anything else along those lines of reasoning. 

“A lot can happen in two months, is all,” said Resling with a shrug. 

“Sure,” Damian shrugged back. 

Resling wasn’t wrong. 

###

“Down!” Mordin shouted for what had to be the second time that week, and Vhorr dropped obediently behind her sturdy work table. When she’d first gotten back to Tuchanka some ten months ago, she’d had a loud, protracted discussion with her father about having to wear armor while she worked. In the end, she was convinced for two reasons-- mitigation of the background radiation, certainly, but mainly, the fact was that occasionally someone actually did try and kill her, and it was super fucking annoying.

“What do you see?” she called to her brother, three years her junior but already a proficient fighter and capable security. Mordin was crouched near the door, gun up and peering around the corner. He suddenly holstered the rifle and laughed low, too eerily like their father.

“My chickenshit sister who won’t even carry more than a handgun?” he said. 

Vhorr straightened up and scowled at him. “I’m an engineer, Mordin. I’m not supposed to be in gunfights. It’s stupid, is what it is.”

“You’re a krogan and an Udrnot,” he said, shrugging at her. “And you got named after Auntie! Big brain or no, you need to be able to protect yourself. You’ve got to learn.”

He meant well, he did. He was wrong though, even though sometimes it didn’t feel like it. It helped that her mother was firmly on her side, but.

“Mordin. Do you ever wonder what it’s like in other places? Where you don’t have to worry about being attacked all the time? Don’t you get tired?” 

“Here’s the thing though-- no one wants to attack _me_ all the time because they know they’d get their asses kicked,” Mordin said, as though Vhorr was slow. “You on the other hand are fair game. Because you refuse to hear it.”

Vhorr sighed. “Krogans can’t keep making the same mistakes every generation and expecting a different outcome. It’s asinine. We need to move forward, or else all of these power plants and generating stations, and,” she threw her hands towards the plans on her table, “everything I’m building; we’ll just nuke them all over again.”

“Super,” said Mordin with a nod. “You work on that. I’ll keep you alive.”

Vhorr made a noise that was a cross between a grunt and a growl of frustration. She checked in with her comms and started gathering the topmost five planning sheets on her drafting table, rolling them carefully and sticking them in a tube with a huge strap, threw the tube over her shoulder, and turned to face him again. “Radio your friends downstairs. We’re going over to meet with the rest of the planning commission and I’d like it if my plans weren’t blood-spattered once we get there.”

“You know what’s ridiculous, Shep?” Mordin asked, even as he began poking at his comms.

She rolled her eyes. “What?”

“No one else I know has to be escorted like a child,” he said before following her instructions and speaking to the other two krogans posted at the door below.

“No other planet I know is as fucked,” said Vhorr as she came up to him. “Maybe I shouldn’t be the only one working on that.”

“Whatever,” he said, clearly unthreatened. “The Citadel made you weak.”

“Maybe I should have stayed there,” she said, reminding herself not to grind her teeth down on the words. 

“You’re my older sister, plus it’s clear you’re fucking brilliant and everything you’re planning is going to keep Urdnot on top, so I say this with all due respect?” he said, and she was already braced for the rest of the sentiment. “But yeah, I think maybe you should have.”

“There won’t be a Clan Urdnot unless you assholes can figure out how to keep your trigger fingers in check,” she said, twitching her nose and showing just a little bit of teeth. Just because she wasn’t prepared to follow it through didn’t mean she didn’t have all of those krogan instincts running mad through her veins, waiting for their moment. “Move out,” she growled.

“Aye, moving out,” he growled back, giving a sharp nod of his head to indicate she should start.

The bitch of it though was that Mordin was probably right. After nearly ten years on the Citadel with Auntie and her second family, it had been a hard reception indeed when she’d come back and discovered that she couldn’t just _work_. She’d of course been back to Tuchanka on several occasions, but once she’d been back to stay and part of the planning commission, there had been neverending trouble. What made her think that one bloody pacifist of a krogan was going to make a difference? Apart from her mother’s unwavering support?

They made it to street level and were joined by the two krogans that had been standing at the door, both Urdnot, both much older than Vhorr and Mordin. The one on the left gave Vhorr a nod of acknowledgment and muttered, “Shepard”.

“Brand,” she said with an answering nod. It was no less weird to be addressed as ‘Shepard’ than it was to be legitimately named _Shepard_ ; She’d gone by “Vhorr Urdnot-Shepard” in school for a reason, but here almost no one took her seriously as it was-- she wasn’t about to tell them to call her a maw grub. 

“All clear,” he said, and Vhorr nodded again.

“Thanks. Let’s go.”

Time to make the trip five bloody blocks down.

###

“Are you serious right now, Gorthem?” Shepard said to the batarian seated across from her at the ludicrously small cafe table, coffee cup in front of her on its saucer for fear of revealing the fact that she was almost shaking with disbelief. She crossed her arms instead, facing the man that two years ago had taken the risk in believing that Shepard had been on his side, and had been willing to work with her and Garrus to stop the profiteers that had been squeezing his people.

“Shepard, I have never made it a secret that I believe in the traditional ways of my people,” he said reasonably, spreading his hands as though there was nothing he could do about it. “It is the way of the strong to prey on the weak.”

“Ninety percent of your people were destroyed by the Reapers, and you’re still defending slavers?”

“How better to repair our infrastructure than to free our remaining brightest minds from the tedium of everyday labor?” He countered. 

“Pay someone to clean your house instead?” Like she had for the past twenty-five years, actually.

“It is unethical to pay for unskilled labor and take the resources from our own children to do so,” he shrugged again. “It is right to repay base labor with base needs. Food, clothing, shelter, medicine. Our unskilled workers have traditionally received all of this and more. It’s not a bad life.”

“Your unskilled workers are enslaved, sentient beings,” Shepard insisted. 

“Your unskilled workers aren’t much better,” Gorthem shrugged, implacable in his conviction. “At least ours are guaranteed food. How many of your basic service workers struggle to make ends meet?”

“At least they have the freedom to come and go as they please,” Shepard countered.

“Ah yes. The freedom to starve if they don’t want to clean a war hero’s house or serve tea for a living.”

“Yes, actually. Free will is a tenet of all modern Council civilizations, with the Batarians being the only holdouts.”

“Oh?” asked Gorthem. “Tell me more about the Drell, dependent on the Hanar for their needs and beholden to them for all their lives. Or the Krogan, who scrabble and fight amongst themselves and hire themselves out as mercenaries because they have no choice. Or the human ghettos where the people die on the street and the infrastructure everywhere but the most desirable cities crumble. Those people have fewer choices than our laborers.”

“Bottom line, Gorthem,” Shepard said, wondering how this conversation with someone she thought of as an ally and a burgeoning friend hadn’t come to a head until the Batarian schism came to a head. “The Council hasn’t changed its mind about letting batarian ships kidnap its citizens for your shit work.”

“Know this-- I began this conversation because I wanted to make clear to you and the rest of the Council that it is a mistake for the Board to accept the Abolitionist Board candidate.” Shepard opened her mouth, but Gorthem interrupted her. “We Traditionalists may be made out to be monsters, but it is an act. These so-called Abolitionists still believe as we do that Batarians are the pinnacle of creation, and they would continue the traditional ways if they thought the Council would allow it. At least the Traditionalists are forthright about our beliefs.”

Shepard heaved a sigh of frustration and disgust. 

“Now that those unpleasantries are past,” said Gorthem, waving the waiter over. “Tell me about your daughter’s progress? I heard she was well halfway through your Alliance’s N-school?” The waiter arrived before Shepard could decide whether to continue the conversation with someone she now clearly realized to be an elitist, slaving-apologist prick but was somehow still honestly inquiring after the well-being of her family, and whose family, in turn, she knew much about. She vaguely heard him asking for pastries until he said her name, “Councilor Shepard I believe enjoys the custard tarts. Bring one for her as well.” He waved the waiter away. No ‘please’, no ‘thank you'. She was no closer to deciding on a course of action, even with the reprieve by the time he spoke in her direction again.

“Your opinion of me has changed,” he said with a small nod. “I understand. But I am still your friend.”

Shepard was sure he was serious. She was just as sure that she would shoot him out of the sky if it came to it, and worried that it said more about her than him. Instead, she offered him a nod.

“Yeah, actually,” she said. “Assuming she makes it through the final exercises, she’ll be rated N4 within the month. Your son?”

“Oh,” he said with a chuckle as he sat back. “Struggling, with anything that isn’t playing ball. It’s the age.”

The pastries arrived and Shepard stared at the tart in front of her, entirely unable to fathom putting it in her stomach just then. “Can I uh- get a box? Please?” she asked the waiter, who nodded and rushed to get her one. “Sorry. I think I’m just. Full.”

Gorthem Pazness took a bite of his dessert, smiled contentedly and nodded. “Understandable,” he said agreeably. So agreeably. Her stomach turned a little further.


End file.
